One Face
by banishing gun
Summary: Renos POV. 'People judge me by the way I live my life. People don't now the first thing about me'. References to drug abuse, brief mention of noncon and talk of homosexual relationships.


_Square Enix own Reno, Rude and Rufus, not me, if I did they'd probably cry, nor do I have any rights to the song mentioned below_

_'I'm gonna find one face that ain't lookin' through me'-Bruce Springsteen, 'Badlands'_

People judge me for the things I've done in the past and the way I live my life. People don't know shit all about me. All they know is my job description, assassin, body guard, the dirty hands of the Shinra Company. They know I've made people disappear, that my hands are covered in blood, I blew up a whole sector for fucks sake. I'm not proud of much of my life but I have pride in myself and I don't let other peoples judgments effect me.

I grew up on the streets of Midgar, cept maybe streets is too good a word for those shit lined tracks. People from the plate or outside town can't imagine what it's like down there. Yeah some people keep clean, the lucky ones, or the ones so stupid they'd rather die a slow death than try and better themselves.

The other Turks always dig at me about being a womanizer, some kind of slut. What do they expect? Slut? That used to be my job description. Except how many women do you think look for 'male escorts', especially in the slums? No my trade was in men, and what kind of a man wants to sleep with a fourteen year old kid? The worst sort of man, the one who wants it rough with something pretty in an alley before they go home to their wives and children. Who'll pay you pittance and not spare a thought for how your going to eat or what happened to you to bring you so low, to make you so different from their own son's.

Then there are the ones who bring your head up from their dick with a switchblade under your chin, exacting extra credit, you get to recognize that kind with time, if you live long enough. You end up hating yourself when you live like that, your innocence is replaced with cynicism and your job makes you feel filthy. But it's the men who come to you who are the filth, you have to remember that when your knelt in the dirt with their cock in your mouth or moaning as they nail you against the wall in some cheap club.

When you hate what you do for a living, when it makes you feel permanently unclean you seek ways to escape, I found one. Drugs. All my wages went on drugs, anything I could put up my nose or in my veins. Half the men I fucked paid me in drugs, they were the lower end of my clientele. Maybe I'd still be down their now with a knife up my sleeve and a needle in my boot, or rotting in the ground of course, if I hadn't kicked the habit.

I had a friend down their once. Not an acquaintance, not a client, not a dealer, not someone who occasionally hung round with me to steal my customers or my coke. A friend. His name was Jench and he probably saved my life not just once but twice. He found me in an alley with some punk who thought he'd invite his friends to the party without asking me.

There was three of the bastards, two of them taking it in turns fucking me as hard as they could, grinding against me n' pushing me further into the filth that ran down the narrow alley. The third was fucking my mouth so hard I was choking, if I'd bit down I'd be dead now. I could feel my head grow light as I was about to black out from the agony and lack of air but it was then that Jench appeared. He dragged the guy away from my mouth an' broke his jaw with a well aimed fist before the other two had even noticed him. The other two were victim to a flurry of kicks n' punches before they squirmed out the alley and ran for it.

I felt terrible, I was bleeding from my mouth, my ass and countless small cuts from the rough concrete floor. I somehow managed to push myself to my feet and lean against the wall. As I stumbled forward to leave and get away from this embarrassing situation, my cheeks already flushed as red as my hair or the blood slowly drying down my chin I tripped and he caught me. 'why do you even give a shit yo?'

'We've all been there'. His words were sad but he quickly brightened up as he took me back to the derelict building he called home.

I stayed with Jench for a couple of months, same old job once I was well enough. Can you imagine that? Having to go back to strangers knowing the next one who's interested could have the same intention as the one that raped you? I was still using at that time, until I came home an' found Jench dead on the floor. His skin cold, limbs already stiffening, skin faintly blue. I knew he'd had to change dealer only a few days ago, his last guy had got taken in by Shinra guards, and he'd gone to mine. I was responsible for his death, it was my dealer who'd sold him the shit that had taken him out.

After that I stopped doing drugs, I like to lie to myself and say Jench didn't die in vain, that he saved my life again by forcing me to open my eyes, see the danger and kick the habit. Of course that's bullshit, he died for nothing. Not like my life got any better anyway, it only got worse. I'd lost the only two things that had ever given me any happiness, my friend and my habit. I'd got smarter though, I wasn't looked down on as much, I could handle myself better and no one ever bested me again, well not until the Shinra came an' recruited me by beating the shit outta me and dragging me up to the plate. Not the most diplomatic of companies. They'd heard I was dealing weapons and had quite the reputation, tough and capable and they wanted me for their so called Turks.

You'd think they just ask really, what street punk in their right mind would turn down the opportunity to go up top. I was respected in the slums an' doin' ok for myself but in the slums doin' ok for yourself means one meal a day n' you're less likely to get stabbed in your sleep. But no, rather than just ask they had to take me by force, I guess it's a kinda test and as it took three of their best to take me out I passed.

The company's really been dragged through the shit in the past couple of years, I'm just amazed were all still alive, especially the president after diamond weapons attack and his abduction by Kadaj. If he had died then I wouldn't be here now, he's all I got left and I don't give a shit who knows there's something between us. He's the only man who doesn't look at me without some kind of judgment in his eyes.

Even Rude judges me for what I've done, you know I don't think he ever got over the fact I was the one to destroy sector 7. I think he saw a side of me then he never knew existed. We're best friends, don't get me wrong but there's something in him that disapproves of the way I drink an' act, the way I live my life. The way I could kill hundreds of innocent people with the impersonal and detached pushing of a single button.

Ruf doesn't give a shit, after all he's universally hated even though he's trying to right the wrongs of his father. We need each other just so we can look into another pair of eyes that understands. A pair of eyes that knows everything about you and that loves you despite it.

Rufus knows every aspect of my past just as he knows every inch of my body. We don't offer each other forgiveness, neither of us has that power but we can give each other acceptance, of what the other's done, the person they are. No promises, just truths, and in the end that's probably the best thing.

Well that and the sex.


End file.
